Wandering Alone
by 7HoursWarSurvivor
Summary: A man sets out across the wasteland, trying escape his past. His destination: the east coast. Note: will contain Fallout 4/ Fallout 3 spoilers later on, as well as the Lone Survivor Rated T, though may be rated M later.


**Chapter 1: For Those of You Joining Us**

Rocks crunch beneath my boots, the dust of the wasteland smearing my goggles. I take a moment to gulp down some grit filled water from my battered canteen. Swallowing it slowly, I tie my facemask back in place.

I've been on the road for a while now. Came east looking for someplace to call my own, trying to escape my past. The west hadn't been kind to me, and the east was the only place left to run to.

Carefully, I tied off a length of rope from the rebar jutting out of the overpass' broken road deck. Praying that the knot and, by extension, the concrete, would hold, I lower myself to the ground below. With a quick tug, the rope comes undone and drops. I safely tie it around my chest and head towards the only building in sight.

A Red Rocket station. I've seen more and more of these, Poseidon being left behind. I sigh, unsling my shotgun, and creep up to the door.

Kicking the door in, I swing the shotgun left and right. A radroach screeched at me, only to be blown off the counter it was sitting on. Licking my lips, I closed the door and pushed a box in front of it.

Once I was sure the rest of the doors were secure, I went back to check what the roach had been eating. To my infinite dismay, I found the chewed remnants of a Fancy Lad Snack Cake box. Grabbing the roach, I started a fire and began cutting out the edible chunks of meat. With a dash of salt, a precious commodity I had picked up while in the Boneyard, I dug in.

Greasy, as usual, and I could swear I felt the radiation attacking my body already. Still, not the worst thing I had eaten…

Pulling a firearm repair kit from my bag. I sat down and cleaned my shotgun, as well as my hunting rifle and Colt 1911. I took special care with the last one, as it was a family heirloom, and hard to come across in the wastelands.

With a final glance over, I rolled out my blanket, set my bag down as a pillow, and quickly drifted off.

X X X

The morning light filtered in through the broken window.

With a yawn, I sat up. Mornings were always a pain. Mostly, I just wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. Forcing myself to stand, I hastily packed my things. Popping the top of a can of pork and beans, I hastily ate before scattering my garbage and the remains of my fire.

The day looked like it would be a warm one. Not wanting to climb back up onto the overpass, only to bake in the hot sun, I chose the shade it provided.

Most of the day passed with nothing happening. More than nothing, the wasteland seemed dead. Not that I was complaining. I was already low on ammo, and didn't favor the idea of having to waste more of it.

As the afternoon stretched on, I stopped for a quick bite to eat. I sat against one of the overpass' concrete supports and ate a can of cram, as well as some of the jerky I had been saving for a while. With a quick gulp of water, I stood to leave.

I stopped. I was sure I had heard something.

Carefully, I listened again.

Definitely. I heard music. Not the drums and whatnot tribes used either. This was pre-war music.

Taking it slow, I approached the source of the sound. Coming upon a small drop, I saw a camp hidden away below me. I lay down, peaking over the edge. Someone had clearly been here, and recently too. The traps arranged around it told me that whoever it was, they were planning on coming back. In the wasteland, however, what you plan and what happens rarely are the same.

X X X

I lay there for the rest of the afternoon, waiting.

I was waiting to see if whoever had camped here was coming back. Not for any moral reason, mind you. If they came back, it meant more loot for me.

Finally, as night began to fall, I heard a faint, broken whistling coming my way. Getting back into position, I watched the camp's owner, navigate his defenses, sit down, and start a fire.

I cycled the bolt on my rifle. Placing the crosshairs between his eyes, I waited.

He grabbed his gun and pointed it directly at me.

"I know you're up there! Why don't you come down here where I can see you!"

Caught by surprise, and with a gun pointed at me, there was little else I could do. Standing up, I jumped down from the ledge with gun in hand. I hoped I look suitably intimidating, because that would be the only way this wouldn't end in me dying.

"There you are," he said calmly, lowering his gun, "been wondering how long you were going to sit up there"

"You knew?"

"Oh yeah. That radio draws people like you in all the time. Trying to kill off a man making an honest living."

"Your no prospector, that's for sure. Too little salvage. Hunter then?"

"Your quick, I'll give you that" he said. I thought I caught a slight smirk in the fire light.

"How about we both put our guns down and parley a while. Seems a better alternative than getting shot."

"Parley? Oh, you want to chat. Good idea."

He say back down, keeping his gun close by. I sat opposite the fire, doing my best to try to figure out if he was going to kill me or not. When he began to cook some kind of meat over the fire, I relaxed slightly. Clearly, for the present, neither of us was going to start shooting.

X X X

After a tense meal, it was time for talk.

"So, care to tell me why you were waiting to ambush me?" the man asked, seemingly disinterested in the question.

I lit a cigarette, took a drag, and offered it to him. He took it gladly.

"Was planning to kill you and take your stuff. If you hadn't come back, I would have looted your camp and taken off."

"Honesty is a rare trait out here."

"Like my dad was fond of saying 'better to put all your cards on the table then get stabbed because your opponent thinks your cheating'".

"Smart man. Now I'm stuck with the matter of what to do with you. I could just kill you and be done with it. However, I've never been a fan of murder."

"How about we trade, and then I leave?"

"And how do I know you won't wait till I nod off and kill me then?"

"I'll swear on my family's name."

"A person's word counts for little out here, and you know it."

"Fine," I said, pulling the chain around my neck out into view, "how about I swear on these?"

"By god, where did you get those?"

"They're a family heirloom."

"Most people wouldn't flash those openly. In fact, I hear they bring back luck."

"I'm willing to believe it."

Attach to the chain were two sets of dog tags. One was a set of old, steel tags, the other a set of newer steel tags with a holographic insert. Three cogs behind a sword, flanked by wings.

The emblem of the Brotherhood of Steel.

"Alright, I'll take your word. Any man brave enough to carry those, and swear by them, is someone that is either crazy, or trustworthy."

And with that, I spent the night trading, and talking, with my new found acquaintance.

When morning came, I departed, a new destination in mind.


End file.
